Bye bye Bobby
Today is Robert's last day at Amazon. Yesterday after work a crew of us gathered to share some drinks and some food and to reminisce about our favorite Bobby stories. I have many.
I met Robert at Amazon, which he joined in Feb. of 1998. He used to sit with Aaron in one wing of the fourth floor, where I sat as well.
He was one of my first roommates in Seattle in my sweet old pad up at the top of the hill in Fremont. Because we were at the top of the hill, we had a great view in all directions. The windows of my room opened out onto a narrow ledge which, if traversed, allowed one to climb up on the roof of the house and look out at the sunsets over the Olympics.
Robert used to climb out on the roof with a bottle of wine, his guitar, and occasionally an unsuspecting, or perhaps suspecting and consenting young lass. Of course, I didn't always know he was out there and sometimes I'd be lying in bed and would hear a rap at my window from Robert and whoever else I had locked out there on the roof.
We had some good times playing guitar and singing out on the roof. Somehow, and this is fortunate, we never feel off. It was a steep roof, and the fall was three stories onto the pavement. Death was probable.
After I busted up my knee I couldn't drive stick for a while so he and I switched cars. Robert still had this old SUV from his college days. This grey thing was old, had that red Stanford decal in the back window. It looked like a hippie mobile.
There was the time we saw the Chieftains at Chateau Ste. Michelle. I can't remember why we got the tix, as we didn't really feel like seeing them live. We took Susannah and Robert's Russian bride (okay, she was just a former co-worker visiting from the Bay Area, but she was Russian). Each of us downed a bottle of wine, and we danced around that lawn like lunatics while the older and more subdued crowd looked on with disapproval. Unfortunately, we were too loopy to drive home afterwards so we put down a blanket next to the car in the parking lot, plopped down, and practiced German from my phrase book (don't ask why I was trying to learn German but suffice it to say that phase has passed).
Some long time later, after the entire lot had emptied out, Robert managed to sober up enough to drive us home. Mind you, it was a work night. We got home, popped in The Rock, and watched til 4 in the morning or something like that.
Another time, Robert and I played Gold Mountain and he shot a 73. He had a putt for a par round on the last hole.
There was the time he and I took Scott to Palace Kitchen for his birthday, then to Belltown Billiards for drinks. Scott's head was shaved back then. This is an important detail. We got Scott hammered at Belltown. As we were leaving, some punks from a neighboring table brought back their billiard balls and told Susan, a friend of ours who worked at Belltown, that they had found those on the table and didn't want to pay. Scott and I didn't take too well to their lame excuses, and being somewhat intoxicated, we let them know that they were bunch of cheap asses and to pay up. Susan let them off though, and those guys left.
Well, Scott and Robert and I settle up and leave, and we find the six of these dudes waiting outside for us. Here's where Scott's shaved head comes in. The leader of this band of yahoos says, "Hey skin, I didn't appreciate your comments back there." Except his grammar wasn't quite so solid. Well, three of us loopy dudes weren't going to come out too well against this sober fatso and his five sober buds, but what the hell, it's good to mess it up every now and then. Somehow it never came to blows. Maybe Robert the peacemaker brokered a cease fire. So Scott and this guy shake hands and these six characters wander off. About two minutes later Scott suddenly comes to his senses and goes off chasing after these guys who have long since disappeared.
Robert and I hopped in the car, found Scott, and drove him over to a friends place on the East side, dumped him there, and drove off.
There are other stories which I'll add sometime when I'm not brain dead.
I met Robert at Amazon, which he joined in Feb. of 1998. He used to sit with Aaron in one wing of the fourth floor, where I sat as well.
He was one of my first roommates in Seattle in my sweet old pad up at the top of the hill in Fremont. Because we were at the top of the hill, we had a great view in all directions. The windows of my room opened out onto a narrow ledge which, if traversed, allowed one to climb up on the roof of the house and look out at the sunsets over the Olympics.
Robert used to climb out on the roof with a bottle of wine, his guitar, and occasionally an unsuspecting, or perhaps suspecting and consenting young lass. Of course, I didn't always know he was out there and sometimes I'd be lying in bed and would hear a rap at my window from Robert and whoever else I had locked out there on the roof.
We had some good times playing guitar and singing out on the roof. Somehow, and this is fortunate, we never feel off. It was a steep roof, and the fall was three stories onto the pavement. Death was probable.
After I busted up my knee I couldn't drive stick for a while so he and I switched cars. Robert still had this old SUV from his college days. This grey thing was old, had that red Stanford decal in the back window. It looked like a hippie mobile.
There was the time we saw the Chieftains at Chateau Ste. Michelle. I can't remember why we got the tix, as we didn't really feel like seeing them live. We took Susannah and Robert's Russian bride (okay, she was just a former co-worker visiting from the Bay Area, but she was Russian). Each of us downed a bottle of wine, and we danced around that lawn like lunatics while the older and more subdued crowd looked on with disapproval. Unfortunately, we were too loopy to drive home afterwards so we put down a blanket next to the car in the parking lot, plopped down, and practiced German from my phrase book (don't ask why I was trying to learn German but suffice it to say that phase has passed).
Some long time later, after the entire lot had emptied out, Robert managed to sober up enough to drive us home. Mind you, it was a work night. We got home, popped in The Rock, and watched til 4 in the morning or something like that.
Another time, Robert and I played Gold Mountain and he shot a 73. He had a putt for a par round on the last hole.
There was the time he and I took Scott to Palace Kitchen for his birthday, then to Belltown Billiards for drinks. Scott's head was shaved back then. This is an important detail. We got Scott hammered at Belltown. As we were leaving, some punks from a neighboring table brought back their billiard balls and told Susan, a friend of ours who worked at Belltown, that they had found those on the table and didn't want to pay. Scott and I didn't take too well to their lame excuses, and being somewhat intoxicated, we let them know that they were bunch of cheap asses and to pay up. Susan let them off though, and those guys left.
Well, Scott and Robert and I settle up and leave, and we find the six of these dudes waiting outside for us. Here's where Scott's shaved head comes in. The leader of this band of yahoos says, "Hey skin, I didn't appreciate your comments back there." Except his grammar wasn't quite so solid. Well, three of us loopy dudes weren't going to come out too well against this sober fatso and his five sober buds, but what the hell, it's good to mess it up every now and then. Somehow it never came to blows. Maybe Robert the peacemaker brokered a cease fire. So Scott and this guy shake hands and these six characters wander off. About two minutes later Scott suddenly comes to his senses and goes off chasing after these guys who have long since disappeared.
Robert and I hopped in the car, found Scott, and drove him over to a friends place on the East side, dumped him there, and drove off.
There are other stories which I'll add sometime when I'm not brain dead.